Less than a week after my father’s funeral I received a letter from a local council officer offering condolences on the matter of MY death - apparently I had passed away some months previously. The letter enclosed a selection of useful leaflets about the council’s burial and crematorium services - undoubtedly considered to be of great use to the interred. The letter was not well-written and clearly invited a response, which I never got round to writing. A few months later, though, this song was hatched. It is the only song I have ever been requested not to sing in public. The request came from the line manager (it may be that this line manager was not appointed until after Mr Carter wrote his letter) of the council officer who wrote the letter, and who - perhaps unwisely? - identified herself in front of an audience one evening. When one is already in a [six-foot deep] hole perhaps one had best stop digging. Naturally I take great pleasure in singing the song often and in telling the story. Names and locations have been changed in the both the song and this description to protect those innocents who may have reached a ceiling of competence early in their careers.
The song is one of the few that made it into the key of C minor with a couple of breaks that modulate into its relative major of Eb with an offbeat strum throughout. I am particularly pleased with the lyrics of this song which are full of rhymes and half-rhymes within as well as between lines.
lyrics
Dear Mr Carter,
May I thank you for your letter of condolence that you sent me on the sixth of May.
You could not have been politer, but you're clearly not a writer when you muddle up your pronouns in this careless way.
Are you singular or plural? “Royal Wes” sometimes obscure all sense of meaning undermining what you mean to say.
But despite some reservations you mean well, although I fear your near dismissal. Your epistle isn't clear.
Dear Mr Carter,
May I thank you for your letter of condolence that you sent me on the sixth of May.
It was nice to get your letter, but I hoped for something better than your startling vignette that I had passed away.
It wasn't even recently, but rather more indecently you wrote that I'd been buried long ago and so I say
That, as an agent of the council, is it right that you renounce all normal courtesies when writing day-to-day.
Dear Mr Carter,
May I thank you for your letter of condolence least expected of deliveries this year.
Almost churlish now to mention, but there is a wee convention that a letter to the buried might seem insincere.
Plot XYZ280 my abode, but still quite weighty my concern that still you spurn it to address me here,
Mill Road, Walpole St Peter, undeniably a feat of intuition. Recognition somewhat queer.
Whether Walpole now or Gayton it is clear there is a weight on my shoulders since I don't know which is my abode, my domicile or dwelling and the strain is surely telling.
There must be some administrative way to ease my load?
Dear Mr Carter,
May I thank you for your letter of condolence that arrived here Thursday, May the twelfth.
Now I'm dead what are my options beyond council tax reduction? I don't mean to cause a ruction, Let's just blame my health.
As you note I've been ill lately you know I would be greatly obligé if you’d delegate me a rebate by stealth.
No confession would be needed if you heeded my request to do your best to add a little to my wealth.
Dear Mr Carter
May I thank you for your letter of condolence from the bottom of my beating heart.
And the leaflet you enclose will come in handy, I suppose, in my repose and heaven knows will give a flying start
To my life in the hereafter. If you'll please excuse the laughter while I sing about a grafter who will soon depart
From his office at the council if he doesn't soon renounce all stupid letters. THAT WOULD MAKE A DECENT START!
Exasperation’s what I’m feeling while i’m reeling from your spieling
In the matter of bereavement and my family’s needs.
Experience embarrassment occasioned by this harassment.
Stick to writing mission statements - crap that no one reads! So
Dear Mr Carter
May I thank you for your letter of condolence that you sent me on the sixth of May.
I so want to be offended, but least said is soonest mended. You intended no offence, so I ought to say
That, when writing people letters, better show them to your betters before posting as a roasting is unsightly, rightly. Pray
Remember recently bereaved become aggrieved when we receive some pointless note, sent out by rote (and lest my fingers seek your throat) don’t you dare try to wish me a nice day.
(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)
credits
from Head Above Water,
released May 1, 2019
Marshlander: vocal, guitar and drums
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